


Already Lost

by awetcarrot



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, I can't believe how few non-romance fics for the anduin and sylvanas dynamic there are, World of Warcraft: Shadowlands Spoilers, first fic let's go, maybe a little comfort, non-con hand-holding, that's as dark as I get folks, very little action sorry if you are looking for a tyrande/sylvanas showdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 21:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29548452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awetcarrot/pseuds/awetcarrot
Summary: Sylvanas hesitates. Tyrande helps her make up her mind.My take on the continuation of the "Sylvanas' Choice" cinematic, before Blizzcon hopefully fills us in.(No spoilers from the 9.1 leaks, I wrote this before I saw those, I swear!)
Relationships: Sylvanas Windrunner & Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Already Lost

**Author's Note:**

> If you need lore accuracy I've got some bad news for you! I have no idea what I'm doing but that horrible cliff hanger would not leave me alone.

"Make your choice, Sylvanas Windrunner." 

Anduin was barely holding back the tremors in his limbs. His father's twisted blade and the runes of the prison holding him still seemed to leech all heat from the room. His teeth were chattering but he tried to hide it, tried to keep Sylvanas focused on his eyes and words alone. 

He could see she was wavering. Her grip on the sword was loose, her frown deepening. Anduin did his best to appear relaxed despite the chill. Internally he was terrified; he knew what Frostmourne had done to Arthas Menethil, how it had turned him into a monster. 

_No, that will not happen to me. I can fight it. I am_ not _Arthas._

Slowly, miraculously, Sylvanas lowered the blade back to her side. The blue glow that filled the chamber dimmed. Heat returned to Anduin's body like it had never left and he involuntarily gasped. He had to catch himself from falling over when the magic released him. He took a few heaving breaths in relief; unaware he had been holding it. 

Sylvanas looked away, lost in thought and clearly conflicted. Anduin couldn't believe his luck, but he knew he still needed to handle this carefully. 

"Thank you." He said gently, catching his breath. 

She gave him a sidelong glance. "Don't thank me yet, you still..." She trailed off, turning her attention to the doorway. 

"What is it?" Anduin asked. He waited for his dull human senses to catch whatever she noticed. 

She didn't answer, but soon enough Anduin could make out the sounds of metal clashing against metal and the crash of arcane magic down the hall. Sylvanas turned back to him, calculating. She then stepped around his prison, putting him between herself and the door. 

Anduin did not like that at all, but he focused his gaze towards whoever or whatever was coming. The sounds of fighting quickly stopped, the air around them began humming with energy. 

He saw the tips of her enormous war glaives before he saw the Night Elf leader herself. Tyrande seemed to be crackling, small pops of white light blinking in and out of existence around her. 

"Tyrande!" Anduin called nervously. She looked awfully pale and her bared arms were littered with bloody gashes. She seemed not to notice her wounds as she stalked into the chamber, taking in everything. 

"Anduin?" Her voice was rough, like she had been screaming. Her cold blue eyes seemed to soften for a moment before she noticed Sylvanas behind him. She froze in place at the top of the stairs. "The Banshee. Finally." The arcane around her dissipated and her skin started to glow with it, like she had focused it inward, collecting it. Her wounds began to mend. 

Alarm bells started going in Anduin's head. He glanced at Sylvanas. Her expression had closed off. Whatever vulnerability she showed earlier had vanished, replaced with a sneer. The Mourneblade was tight in her grip now. 

"Oh priestess, have you been killing your way through this tower just for _me_?" Sylvanas dramatically clutched her chest with her free hand. 

Anduin turned back to Tyrande reluctantly. Sweat broke out on his brow, he couldn't think of a worse scenario at this moment. 

Tyrande ignored her, addressing Anduin instead. "What has she done to you?" She growled, eyes on the runes around him, the twisted Shalamayne in Sylvanas' hand. 

"Nothing! I'm fine, really. We've just been talking and..." Anduin was struggling to find words that were even remotely likely to de-escalate the situation. His position was obvious. 

_Don't worry she was about to mind control me but she decided not to at the last second and then you showed up so please be nice, so she doesn't change her mind again._ That was sure to work. 

Both women seemed to realize he had nothing left to say. 

"Sylvanas, did you know that the souls of my people would be brought here when you set fire to Teldrassil? Was this part of your plan?" Tyrande's tone was level, demanding. 

Sylvanas took a moment. "I knew. And yes." There was no regret in her voice. 

Tyrande nodded, accepting. "There is nothing more we need to say to each other, then." She rolled her shoulders, her glaives glinted. 

Sylvanas didn't move, just cocked her head to the side. "I disagree. Surely you understand the position your King is in right now?" She gestured vaguely towards Anduin, forced to stand awkwardly in front of her. 

Tyrande curled her lip in disgust, baring sharp teeth. "I am too far away to stop you. And what, you will spare him if I walk away? No." 

"Yes!" Anduin shouted, desperate. "She was already going to -" 

"Silence!" Tyrande interrupted him. Her face twisted and the air seemed to crack with a barely contained force. She looked deranged. "I will not hear you defend her. She could toil until the end of time and never make up for the suffering she has caused. And you, Anduin, are a fool if you take her word for anything." She began down the stairs at a measured pace. 

Sylvanas laughed humorlessly. "You make excellent points." 

Anduin's heart was racing. He felt helpless to stop this. 

Tyrande seemed to struggle with herself for a moment, meeting his eyes solemnly. "I do apologize for coming too late to save you." 

He clenched his jaw in frustration and looked back at Sylvanas. She was staring past him, a snarl on her face. 

"I suppose my choice has been made for me, Little Lion." 

"Justify it however you want." He answered halfheartedly, already reaching for the Light. His hand flexed at his side. Words were pointless now. 

In his weeks trapped here, Anduin determined that the runes prevented Light from reaching him directly, but it still heard his call. He had been waiting for an opportunity to use that knowledge. Right now, he just needed something to keep Sylvanas back for a few moments. The familiar warmth of the Light's connection blossomed in his chest. 

He heard Tyrande running towards them and felt the Light responding, but neither were quick enough. He could do nothing but watch as Sylvanas raised the blade one more time and plunged it deep into the stone of the rune-etched barrier between them. The glow of his prison flashed bright, then faded completely. 

Anduin froze in shock, thinking for an impossible second that she had freed him. The runes deactivated. The Light he summoned blasted through the outer wall of the tower and Sylvanas jerked away in surprise. It slowed as it twistied into a barrier between them. He welcomed it like a friend as its boundless energy passed through him. 

But something was wrong. Anduin's breath caught in his throat and suddenly he couldn't breathe. The normally pleasant heat of the Light was searing hot, angry. It was burning him from the inside out, recognizing a corruption but unable to cleanse it. He let out a strangled cry and fell to his knees, scrabbling uselessly at his chest plate for air. 

He was vaguely aware of Tyrande jumping over his head, screaming in rage. Great blasts of arcane putting holes in the floor around him, Sylvanas’ strange death magic curling in response. He could only focus on trying to force air into his lungs through the agony. 

He stared in horror at the Light surrounding him. The twisting was getting faster, more agitated. Great arcs flashed out in all directions like lightning. Anduin had never seen it behave this way. He glanced at the sword inside the barrier with him. Its glow was pulsing in time to the arcs and the pain wracking his chest. Black spots started filling his vision.

With great effort, Anduin severed his connection with the Light, certain the sword was using him to channel it somehow. The room darkened immediately, and he gasped as the burning dissipated, leaving a bone-deep chill instead. Still, he was relieved as he inhaled greedily through scorched lungs, coughing and sputtering but breathing nonetheless. 

The sounds of Sylvanas and Tyrande fighting was nearby but fading. Anduin only had eyes for the foreign blue light of Shalamayne’s heart as his breathing eased. The runes along the blade's edge were lit, and thin blue tendrils began twisting almost eagerly towards him from the pommel. 

Dazed, the threads of magic almost reached him before he snapped backwards out of his trance and scrambled to his feet. His limbs felt leaden and weak, but he managed to make it a few steps away before the tendrils touched his right arm, wrapping around his wrist. It felt as though he had plunged his arm into icy water, and the magic began pulling him towards the hilt. He snarled and fought, desperately trying to get away, his arm wrenching in its socket and boots sliding across the stone floor. He instinctively started reaching for the Light but stopped. He could briefly sense it still writhing and ready to sear him if he called it forth again. 

"Tyrande!" He cried, looking around wildly. He had no idea what she could do to help him, assuming she was positioned to even try. 

She wasn't. Neither combatant was even in the chamber with him anymore. They must have taken the fight into the halls. Tyrande had abandoned him. 

Anduin couldn't hold back his grief and fear now, his gasps frantic. His bad leg slipped out from under him and he fell, pulled even faster backwards. 

A pressure started building against his skull. There was a soul already fused into the blade, calling to him, trying to break through his mind. 

_No._

He cradled his wrist to his chest and slammed his back against the blade's cross-guard as he reached it, his head smacking the pommel. His wrist would need to go through his chest to reach the handle, so he managed to bring it to a halt. 

He could sense mirth emanating from the sword, as though it was laughing at him. Or perhaps it appreciated his efforts. Either way, it just made him more determined to keep fighting it. 

Anduin didn't know how long he was locked in a stalemate with the blade's magic. It seemed content to wait him out, and he thought he might freeze to death wedged against it and the stone floor. Over and over he felt the urge to summon the Light, certain that the burning heat was better than freezing. He tamped it down every time, fearing it would make the Mourneblade even stronger. 

In his discomfort, he felt the whispers of the Void reach out as well. A multitude of voices, competing for his attention with the soul trying to bind him. Ignoring them was easier than it should have been. The cold sapped him of his ability to think of much else.

Surely hypothermia should have killed him by now, but Anduin doubted this was a natural chill. Staying awake was becoming a challenge. His shallow breathing was made shallower by the force pressing against his chest. 

Eventually, he heard footsteps. 

"You look ridiculous like that." Sylvanas, of course. 

Anduin glanced at her. Her armor looked a little worse for wear but there didn't seem to be any major injuries. He looked away. 

_A pity._ He just hoped Tyrande made it out alright. 

She seemed to read his mind. "The "priestess" was forced to retreat from the tower. Her magic began to turn on her." She paused, reading the concern on his face. "I don't see why you should care. She didn't spare much thought for you." 

"Tyrande isn't herself. I don't blame her." He replied, hoarse. He was too exhausted to deal with Sylvanas' prodding. 

She just hummed thoughtfully, watching him. "I'm sure the rest of your people will feel the same about you." 

She seemed in good spirts. Maybe now that her work was nearly finished, she was relieved. He didn't have the energy to begrudge her that. 

"The process can't be stopped now. Yet you continue to struggle regardless." 

He frowned. "Obviously." 

Sylvanas sighed, then walked over and crouched next to him. "I don't know why I find that endearing." 

Anduin didn't have time to puzzle through that. She gently took his bound wrist in her hand, relieving the pressure from his chest. 

His eyes widened. His limbs were completely numb now. Without the magic's pull keeping him up he slid lower, almost losing an ear to the sword's sharp edge before she pulled him to sit upright. He was limp, barely strong enough to lift his head. The blade's tendrils seemed to be whirring in excitement, the pressure in his mind building. At least someone was looking forward to this. 

"Please. Don't." He didn't mean to sound afraid, but damnit he was too tired to hide it now. He was done.

Sylvanas met his eyes. He couldn't quite make out her expression, things were getting fuzzy. He was just glad she was holding his hand away from the sword, for the moment at least. She didn't reveal any strain against the pull of it. 

"Are you ready?" She asked him. 

"No." But of course, it didn't matter. 

She nodded. "I am sorry, Anduin." 

He just blinked slowly in response. That didn't matter either. 

He didn't watch as she pressed his palm against the Mourneblade's grip. 

**Author's Note:**

> So, *spoilers for leaks now* I assume something like this is going to happen in the next cinematic. Probably less drawn out and angsty than this but I wanted to have this posted in case I'm right ;) 
> 
> If you find a spelling mistake in here you get a gold star. I labored over this for too long I'm never reading it again.


End file.
